


A Study in Scarlet

by London_Fog



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Fog/pseuds/London_Fog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guns replace swords and stars die and are hidden by city lights. That's change, Merlin knows.  Reincarnation fic. Written for the classics prompt list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Scarlet

Once upon a time, men and women lay on grassy fields to watch the stars blink and whisper in the night sky, Merlin thought, as he studied Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Starry Night. They’d breathe the scent of grass and flowers and maybe be warmed by a campfire as they huddled closely around it, but far enough to avoid a burn.

Today, it was much easier to simply observe the outline of the cityscape that was illuminated by artificial lights, and breathe perfume while electric heaters warmed them.

Oh, he knew of course that people still drove out into the countryside to do that, and he certainly held no resentment towards the urbanisation of cities. In fact, he embraced it. Loved it. Modern day had a flair of excitement that couldn’t be found in living in the past, so why compare the two? He liked them all equally. Change was, after all, a constant.

His eyes softened as he turned away and caught sight of a young couple blushing brightly, hands held tentatively.

Well, the world may change, but romance was still well and alive.

Nodding at a passing guard, Merlin stepped out from the museum and into the after rain air of London. From the corner of his eye, he caught a snatch of crimson that was gone when he turned to pay closer attention.

Sometimes he dreamt of red. Not the red of danger and blood, but the red of love and passion and courage. How many lifetimes he has waited for _him_ , he’s forgotten, but his past life in Camelot by _his_ side was always so vivid and clear, and everything between that and the present was a tired, dusty blur of irrelevance.

Merlin decided to paint that, paint a red painting of energy and dynamite and love which both outlined and forgot everything else.

His heart ached slightly with the absence of him, but every day in every lifetime he was filled with hope that perhaps he was finally living the life where they’d meet again.

As he headed absently in the direction of the art shop (down the street, turn left at the bend by Harold’s bookstore and past the florist – he’s walked this route enough times), he began to wonder what it would be like if he found him again. Would he remember him? Did he miss Merlin like how Merlin missed him? What would he say? What _should_ Merlin say?

He sighed to himself, no, there wasn’t a point to thinking about it. If anything those hundreds of lifetimes have taught him, it was that it would be better to simply play by ear. The busking violinist near the bus stop winked at him as he walked by, and Merlin grinned at him.

“Gwaine!”

The violinist laughed and played the last of the notes on the tune, before setting the bright red violin down to beam at him.

“Merlin, my favourite wizard.” Merlin knows Gwaine didn’t have any recollection of Camelot in some lifetimes – reincarnation was a funny thing – but it was a friendship that always worked out in every life where they found one another. In this lifetime, however, Gwaine did.

“I brought you food.” Merlin said, rummaging through his satchel bag to fish out a bag of Danish breads for him. “From the bakery near the museum, I know you hate the ones from Willow Street.”

Gwaine laughed and put his violin away, swinging the case’s strap across his shoulders. “And this, is exactly why you’re my favourite. So, what have you been up to?” He asked, as he led the both of them down the street.

“Painting, mostly. I found Lancelot the other day. He’s at USL Med.” Merlin said thoughtfully. “He doesn’t remember Camelot.”

“Lance as a doctor.” Gwaine said after a mouthful of Danish, “That’s nice. At least one of us isn’t a starving artist.”

“You were the Prince of Denmark in your last lifetime.” Merlin pointed out.

Gwaine shrugged. “Rub that into Arthur’s face when you find him, okay?” he said good-humouredly as they reached the entrance of the art store. “Come see me play at The Dragon’s Breath later?”

Merlin smiled. “Sure.”

Gwaine chuckled, and moved to leave, but stopped in his steps for a moment. “Hey,” he said, “I hope you find him soon.” He winked, and walked away.

Merlin sighed wistfully. “I hope so too.” A few more centuries and it would be the milestone for the second millennia where he had waited. He shook his head and entered the store, steering himself toward the shelf of paints, and mulled over the different shades.

Maroon was rich but too dark. Claret, on the other hand, was too purple. The flag of Camelot fluttered in his mind, and his hand reached up instinctively for the scarlet tube.

“Good choice.” A voice, _his_ voice, drawled lazily behind him.

Merlin stiffened for a moment, and relaxed. A strong feeling of warmness swelled in him, as he turned, to take in every detail of _his_ face. It’s been so long, and simply having _him_ in his presence, smiling at him was such an intense relief, that it was almost unbearable to hold himself back from reaching out to touch _his_ face.

He settled for grinning, as a soft dampness reached his eyes. “Hi.”

Arthur Pendragon laughed, and pulled him towards him. “Hey,” he said, “I finally found you.”


End file.
